Though it’s hastening my ruin and my life is a stain,
Fill up the fire-water, I’ll drink it again;
Speak not of the pleasures I lose by my fall,
I tell you good rum is the dearest of all.
Rum, rum, good rum, good rum, &c.
Mona.
Jones still Jones.
In islands or continents, this parodist depones,
Wherein he has wandered he’s always met Jones